time it took us (to where the water was)
by acrosticacrumpet
Summary: The sea does not lie. There is only truth, in the dark, in the deeps. Jane and Tethys, after Silver on the Tree.


AN: I love Susan Cooper dearly, but I also love Jane Drew, and I felt the ending of Silver on the Tree was _especially_ unjust to her. This is me fixing it. Do not expect it to make sense: the rationale here is BECAUSE I SAY SO.

Many thanks to Florence + the Machine for providing the title (from "What The Water Gave Me") and also for the album "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" which I used as a soundtrack while writing...

* * *

The water was cold, and so deep now, Jane was beginning to be scared. Sea lapping around your ankles was pleasant, a wolf playing at puppyhood; down here, the open water long since closed over her head, it was more like being in the belly of the beast.

But the cold was honest, and the fear was honest. That was worth a lot.

She swam ever deeper, breathing blue and green, feeling the great and endless chamber of the sea over her, made heavy with light. Whether the silver around her was a shoal of fish or only the light through the waves – like stained glass – she could not have said. Deeper and ever deeper, until she'd have sworn (to herself, not admitting the foolish thought out loud) that she could feel the tide beating under her skin.

 _Down here_ , she thought, _there are no foolish thoughts_ , and with that she came upon Tethys, as present as water, and as fearsome.

"My lady," she said, and bowed her head, her long hair spreading out behind her.

 _It has been a long time, Jane Drew,_ said Tethys. _By your reckoning, at least_.

"You remember?" She felt a kind of awe fill her like the distant light.

 _By the sea's reckoning, it has not been so long. And the sea does not forget._

"No," Jane said. "And the sea doesn't lie."

 _That is true_. Jane had the feeling Tethys was – not quite amused, but – intrigued, perhaps. Interested to see what she would do next. She was still afraid, but there was something safe about the fear: the fear was _hers_. _And have you forgotten, or have you been lied to, Jane Drew?_

And now there _was_ something terrible about that voice. "I don't know," Jane said, and it came out shakier than she wanted.

 _What did you come to me for, Jane Drew?_

"I don't _know_." All of a sudden she felt on the verge of crying, and very afraid indeed. The sea was so heavy, and so wide and spacious, all around her –

 _Speak truth!_ Tethys' voice was heavy, so heavy –

"I don't _remember_ ," Jane gasped.

Something about it felt like surfacing, gasping for breath. To say that.

 _You remembered enough to come to me, Jane Drew._ Jane lifted her head, and felt somehow sure that this was as close as Tethys came, ever, to compassion.

"Yes," she said. "I remember – there was something about – a sword, and – a Lady, and a lake. And fear –" How could it be so hard to say all of this? Pushing every word out felt like pushing against the full weight of the tide. "And the sea. Always the sea.

"And," she went on at last – her lungs felt full, full and heavy – "and something to do with – Will Stanton – and when we came here – with Gumerry."

Tethys sighed, and her sigh was the current, a mournful stirring of waves. _So little you remember. And yet, more than was meant._

"I know – I _know_ I forgot _something_ ," Jane said, the words flowing more freely now, as if pushing that list out had freed them up. "And I can't find – the _shape_ of it."

Truthfully, it felt more as if she was the shapeless one. Shapeless inside her own skin. She felt unfinished somehow, unknown.

 _And so,_ said Tethys, _you have come back, to find it out. Look, then, Jane Drew. One of your brothers had Sight, and the other had sense, but it was you, alone, who came close to understanding._

Jane shivered. There was something in those words… something reminiscent of rage and loneliness, and here she was, floating in the heart of the sea.

 _I owe you a debt, Jane Drew. Outside the high laws, which you have forgotten, the sea owes you a debt. And the sea does not forget._

 _Roger Toms, Roger Toms_ , Jane's memory cried, and all at once she wanted to curl up like a small animal, and hide, and hide… But no, _not this time_ , she thought, and made herself stay open to the fear, and the heaviness of the sea.

"I'm afraid," she said.

 _That is normal_ , Tethys said.

"I want –" she began, and stopped.

 _I owe you a debt. Ask me for a boon, and I will repay you._

"But – _can_ you?" Jane said, feeling foolish. "I mean – I asked Will, and all I could get out of him was that he'd promised – and he regretted saying that."

 _I swore no oaths!_ Tethys' anger ripped through Jane like a storm. _I, I am of the Wild Magic! Think first before you ask a gift of me, for my gifts are two-edged – but ask for it, if you have the courage, and I will grant it!_

Jane took in a deep breath, and imagined she could feel the great, empty weight of the sea pour into her.

" _Give me back who I am_ ," she said, and at once it was there, it flooded into her, light and shadow so bright and bold she could barely think, and it was so big, she was so much bigger than she remembered…

If the figure who came out of the waves at Trewissick was weeping, ceaselessly, it was indistinguishable from the saltwater dripping from her face, and when she turned to look at the arch of a seagull flying overhead, there was a laugh in her eyes.


End file.
